Blue Glitter, Full Wallet

Up. And down. And up. And down. And up. And down. And up. And up. And up. One more. One more. One more. One...

Louis drops the bar down to its cradle. Metal clatters sharply on metal, blending with the sound of gasping. He curls up, lying sideways on the bench, holding his aching ribcage, panting harder than he should. Really, it wasn't even heavy. He's benched more and for longer. His biceps burn and shake as he swings his feet to the floor and sits up. His arms hang useless at his sides while he catches his breath.

Lately, the only new stars entering the jailhouse are young kids. At times he feels resentful of them, but in the back of his mind Louis knows he'd feel worse if he asked for someone to drop school, drop their only chance of a semi-normal life, to help him earn a living. As a result, he took on extra hours. And an extra job. And every seasonal work he can find. And in the absence of seasonal work, more boxing matches. The strain has taken its toll: there's barely any time for him to rest, and little to no time for working out. Louis turns his head to catch a glimpse of the blue, sparkling trail still hanging in the air of the cell, lingering over every machine he used. It winks in the industrial light, mocking him.

He desperately needs to continue his workout, but his arms will barely move and he can barely keep his eyes open. Louis sits on the bench, staring at his feet and waiting for some emotion, any emotion, to reach him.

Diggs, donned in a pair of black yoga pants that hugged her legs like an extra skin and a dark gray sports bra, covered by a white tank top, enters the training cell. In her right hand she holds a few papers with a core and butt work out printed across the creamy sheets. Her left hand carries a navy blue back pack by one strap. Now this back pack...wow. Talk about her whole life in a bag. The front mesh pocket has rocks in it: don't ask her why she carries rocks with her, it's just a thing she does when she finds a particularly smooth and pleasing rock. In the small pocket that was cloth were a jumble of miscellaneous items. Her deodorant, just happened to be mens; her iPod; cell phone; 8 feet of green rope; chapstick; a money pouch; a flashlight; three mini cans of spray paint and of course, window crayons in case she was struck by a graffiti urge. The main pockets contents were never consistent. Today she carried a swimsuit, an extra set of clothes, and baby shampoo and conditioner bottles for when she went swimming after her work out and although she could have easily gone and worked out there, she didn't like people watching her while she sweated and struggled. Some days the main pocket contained a notebook and pen, a novel and a sweatshirt and raincoat. Basically, Diggs figures, if she ever needed to run away, that bag would be all she needed to take. That and her truck of course which could potentially hold some large items like her skateboard and extra clothes. But she would only ever really need to run away if she didn't pay a ticket and she got called to court. Or if one of her customers sold her out to the cops. Or something crazy like that. But that wouldn't happen.

Diggs pulls down a mat from the shelf just above her head and rolls it out, singing under her breath:

She stops abruptly and turns slowly around to see a large, hulking figure sitting on one of the benching seats. It takes her a few moments to recognize the character as her mind flips through a file cabinet of faces of the fallen. Louis...that was his name. Diggs drops her stuff to the side of her mat, and the slowly lowers her body, wincing towards the wall from the pain of her sore calves. Her run yesterday was less than ritual and therefore left her feeling like the tin man after a rainstorm. Once in a comfortable position she grabs the paper and reviews the workout for today. After scanning the poorly drawn women in the poses of the exercise she places the paper in front of her and smoothes out the wrinkles caused by her fist clenching the sheets as if they were her ticket into heaven. Scrambling around in her mind for something to say she grasps onto the words: How's work? Maybe it was because she wanted someone to ask how her job was. Maybe it was because she could smell the money coming from this guy all the way down the hall. Who knows what caused her to ask, but there it was. A few limp words hanging in the air waiting to be taken and spit back out, or digested. It didn't really matter to her either way, the ball was in his court now. She had dutifully fulfilled her job as the conversation initiater, now it was his choice if he wanted to proceed and be the conversation sustainer.

}I believe this was originally a cell for stars to learn how to control their powers and harness their capabilities and such, but I much rather like it as a gym. xD And by the way, I am kinda rusty so sorry if my post is...less than pleasing.

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Preston MaxwellRocket Jones SterlingKinetic Control {KayCee}Dignity "Diggs" TruthCoriander "Cori" CrizlerDaughter of Ceres~Son of Them~Son of Saturn~Daughter of Alkaid~Daughter of Procyon

Louis takes a few seconds to breathe slowly, evening out his heart rate. He's grown more used to interaction with the amount of work he's been doing, but he still hates to talk, especially in the sorry state he's been in. "Fine," he says before rubbing his hands along his sweating face. When he pulls his hands back, they are covered in fine, twinkling blue glitter. He grits his teeth and forcefully (or as forcefully as he can attempt) rubs them together, discharging the glitter to the ground. "Yours?"

Diggs lays herself on her side and begins to raise her leg, working her outer thigh and hips. Good, ya know work is work. She replies, feeling proud of herself for being able to multitask and converse at the same time as working out. After a minute of raising up and down, she begins circling her foot, a minute in each direction. She drops her leg and takes a few short breaths while switching sides. Why did she even care what she looked like? Sometimes it truly puzzled her that she could care so much about being attractive and she would inflict this sore pain onto herself to achieve the right look.

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Preston MaxwellRocket Jones SterlingKinetic Control {KayCee}Dignity "Diggs" TruthCoriander "Cori" CrizlerDaughter of Ceres~Son of Them~Son of Saturn~Daughter of Alkaid~Daughter of Procyon

He frowned, watching her do her routine. From all the things he knew about exercise, this was a toning technique: something meant to shape the body. How nice it must be to have time for shaping. All he ever had time for was bulk. It was his life, literally, especially with how little time he had to work out lately. If he didn't put on bulk as fast as he could lose it...

His thoughts turned back to five years ago, watching a 14 year old Louis in the mirror, emaciated. Covered in blue shimmer. Falling apart, leaving a sparkling trail of matter, just like his mother star.

Louis moved back to the barbell and grasped the patterned center in both hands, lifting up. It felt less like lifting a barbell and more like pushing the earth down beneath him. One lift, two, three, four... five. Set. The barbell went back on the rack.

He wanted to say something, anything, to Diggs, but there wasn't anything to be said.

Diggs finishes her other leg and stands up. She checks her papers and heads towards the bench press station. She slides a 20 pound weight on each end and nods to Louis. Spot me? She asks, laying down and pulling her pony tail out from underneath her.

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Preston MaxwellRocket Jones SterlingKinetic Control {KayCee}Dignity "Diggs" TruthCoriander "Cori" CrizlerDaughter of Ceres~Son of Them~Son of Saturn~Daughter of Alkaid~Daughter of Procyon